by Andrea Rose
I swept my arm to Braydon. “You think these are the dogs of an abuser?”
The lady at the door kept yelling and pointed her hands at the dogs then me then Braydon then me then out the door.
Braydon wiped the air.
“Bitch.”
He noted me then fired back at her en espanõl.
“Vámonos,” he barked, threw his keys at her and shooed the poor woman out the door.
I hid Dino’s leash behind my back and slid way along the sloor, sheltering them.
Braydon stepped once,
twice,
three times towards me.
His sneaker trod on a paw. A heartbreaking whimper.
I bent down to shelter Dino shivering from stress.
“Give Rosa the fucking dogs, Ariana,” he demanded. “They’re leaving with her. Unless you want me to jam them into the back of the Porsche, how I know you like.”
The lady muttered apologies at me, hands in prayer.
“I need you to lower your voices,” I said calm and shaking. “You know he gets scared.”
I massaged their fur in small strokes. Braydon took another step closer then lunged down to snatch the leashes from me.
One of the loops snagged the skin on my wrist.
Braydon tugged harder to release me from it.
Tzggggsh!
Leash rope burned along the skin of my arm.
“Motherfucker!” I winced.
“Let it go!”
“You’re hurting me.”
He sliced his arm under mine.
Bentley barked.
Braydon growled, securing my wrist firmly and forcefully slipped it over my trembling, raw hand.
Dino’s throaty whines turned to nipping at Braydon’s ankles. Braydon had threatened the pack leader—me—but she was down for the count.
The dogs struggled against their leashes, chubby throats squished and choked against collars.
I held my palm around my wrist, keeping quiet.
I wanted to keep fighting for them but they never coped well with conflict. They’d have a backyard and each other until I could save them again. They could be strong too.
“Get out of my house,” I said calmly.
Rage erupted in my chest.
My fur-children and best friends were dragged off by a stranger.
Relief came, however, seeing our doorman, Bo, coming out the elevator she went into.
“Ari. Some called in a complaint downstairs. Checking everything’s OK?”
I shook my head out of sight with Braydon back on the sofa.
“Everything’s fine, Bo!” Braydon yelled. “You know how Ari gets after a few drinks.”
Bo lifted his eyes from the spilled bottle of wine below him. “Mr. Thatcher, how have you been? Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”
“Thought I’d check in, see how old Sally Spinster over here is coping by herself.”
Bo’s voice lowered so only I’d hear. “Would you like to come downstairs while we sort this out?”
“This is my apartment. I have a restraining order against him,” I complained and stomped my foot. “He should leave.”
“Ari, I don’t feel safe leaving you here while we call the cops.”
Bo’s arm curled over my shoulder. He led me back into the corridor and closed the door.
No Tyler in sight.
I hated the night ending without a goodbye….A thank you…From me to him for making me lose myself in the moment, if only a short while.
One day I broke the rules, enjoyed a man’s company and believed, if only for a few hours, romance might still exist. Even if it’s in the one man I can’t have.
What did I get as punishment for being bad?
A Braydon. Like always.
Bo tenderly squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go make you some coffee,” he said. I bid Tyler a good night in my head and promised this would be where I left it.
In a final forbidden thought, I imagined Tyler’s fist meeting Braydon’s nose—The damage he’d deal to that slimy, chubby prick. Then there’s the broken wine bottle on the floor, ready to use as my weapon…
I dropped my eyes from Bo and smirked the rest of the elevator ride down.
Behind Bo’s desk was a cloak room for residents where building employees took breaks. He wrapped me in his big coat and set a mug of coffee in front of me.
A quiet TV playing ‘90s reruns sat on the desk and the air-vent above me blew cold.
I backed the chair away from the breeze and text Tyler.
Thanks for a productive meeting x
Tyler’s necessary exit saved us from making a mistake we’d regret in the morning.
My finger wouldn’t stop beating on his stupid donkey card. I’d hadn’t had time for a drink in months and I’d forgotten what it did to me. Inhibitions down, I’d taken a risk staying out this late with him.
The card went flat down on the table.
A waft of his cologne danced forward in a light gust.
Inviting Tyler this close to home crossed a line. I’d make sure not to make that mistake again.
A large hand rested on my shoulder then reached for my icy hands. “Giving up on the night so early?”
The relief of him broke me into heavy breaths—The comforting touch of Tyler bending down to check on me.
His arm caught my head and he wrapped me into his chest to sob, obviously noticing tears already…Sad ones this time.
Being held in the hunky athlete’s arms felt different than my fantasy earlier. The tighter my fingers gripped into his shirt, the more pathetic, unsexy and powerless I felt.
“This is so embarrassing,” I sniffled.
Tyler raised my chin gently and passed a tissue. “OK, so happy tears in front of me pass but sad ones don’t?”
“’S’actly.”
I gave him a small laugh and he dabbed my wet cheeks. “I don’t get to care about others very much. Allow me to indulge if only for this evening and with you, especially if you’re continuing to tell me no on that date.”
“Five more minutes,” I said.
“Good.”
“You saved me.”
“Saved you?” he said. “Hardly. Who was that prick?”
“The devil.”
“…Boyfriend?” Tyler asked.
“Ew. No. Ex-fiancee.” I took a deep breath to blow my nose. The raw skin on my wrist caught Tyler’s eye.
“You wanna talk about it?” he said with an intense, fixed stare.
“I’m…fine.”
His fingers traced under the reddened, bloody skin Dino’s leash left when Braydon stole them.
“This is not fine.”
“We’re all escaping something.”
“Sweetheart…”
Tyler creaked his chair closer to me and waited for a response. His thumb lightly caressed the nape of my neck and I had no intention of telling him to stop.
The air-vent chugged off. The silence drifted deeper and Tyler’s fingertips kneaded harder at the tension in my neck.
“Mm…” I moaned quietly, releasing more with every breath.
The longer his calloused fingers massaged into me, the more my shoulders eased and my tears.
I arched forward, his fingertips moving my hair from my neck.
“Mmm…” Another unintentional moan.
My eyes shot open.
When I spun left, our noses were inches apart.
I slouched back in my seat. “I had too much to drink. You should go.”
“When can I see you again?”
“On a professional level, Phoebe’s film festival and your first appearance together. Beyond that…” My head fell.
He gestured between us. “You wanna end it on this?”
“Yes,” I said. “I…I can usually control my emotions, Tyler. It’s the wine.” My voice went brittle.
Tyler huffed.
Five pats of the desk, he lifted to point two fingers at me.
“I’m no
t accepting that.” His voice stayed calm but he wanted me to listen. “Let me at least make sure you’re safe somewhere for the night.”
“Not appropriate.”
“Fuck appropriate in this case.”
He leaned closer to my lips. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly but I couldn’t give into a feeling that would jeopardize everything.
I needed to get me off his mind the quickest way I knew how:
“Gavin,” I blurted at his face the moment before we almost kissed. “Gavin, your manager, planned the hit on you.”
17
“No one can know about this but me, you and Chrissy,” I said.
A numb Tyler had dropped me outside KK’s, unable to process the news that his manager plotted to get him shot.
He checked his watch.
“Tyler?”
“Yep.”
“I need to build a case to take this public but that’ll take time. I…”
“Ariana. Don’t spend any more time on this,” he ordered. “Thank you…for showing the proof.”
The proof? A number Chrissy stole from Gavin’s cellphone that we called the other night. Someone called Leroy answered.
“Tonight was…appreciated,” he said thoughtfully. “You sleep tight now, sweetheart.”
Our four hands released as the car drove off and Tyler hit furiously against the doorframe.
Three nights I slept at KK’s, terrified to return home and too busy to file a police report. Legal stress curdled with anxiety over any thought of Tyler and I officially postposed execution of Phase One.
Chrissy played middle-man for a while with us until he’d stop bringing up our casual business meeting.
Space had to exist between us. The longer we spent in near proximity to one another, the more dangerous and deeper this feeling became. I resented both temptation and this latest compulsion to flirting with it again.
Romantic ideals, that this star athlete somehow had a thing for me, clouded my better judgement.
No matter how much he wooed me with words, a smile and a look, Tyler King, infamous playboy, wanted one thing from women: Sex, and I’m sure he’d put in an effort to get it.
I readjusted my silk gown that fell like liquid over my curves, stomach perched in my throat.
Phase One Execution resumed at the Sundown Film Festival Afterparty.
Tyler King and his latest girlfriend, Phoebe Kite, were scheduled to make their first appearance as a couple on the red carpet. The red carpet came and went with no Tyler in sight.
Arm-in-arm, The English ingenue and I entered into the luxury hotel’s pool area, her body shaking in excitement after her film received a standing ovation.
“It’s gorgeous up here, bloody hell.”
My eyes widened too.
…Us young, lowly nobodies cowered beneath the amber-lit trees, ice sculptures and large, illuminated spheres floating in the pool.
Arms wrapped in the other’s, we scurried to a corner bar surrounded by mingling groups of the rich and famous and their entourages.
No Tyler.
“Phoebe Kite?” an older man in a suit picked up her hand.
“Me? Yes?”
Her other hand pinched me for support.
“Saw your film. What an absolute delight. So moving, so fun.”
“Oh, God. That’s so sweet. Thank you.”
“What did Mr. King think about that love scene? Or did he cover his eyes for that part?”
“Oh,” she giggled and looked at me. “H—He hasn’t seen it yet.”
After a selfie with the new fan and some nervous giggles, she dragged us away.
“I feel sick. Liquid courage. Give it to me.”
She stole two glasses of champagne from one of the roaming waiters.
“People actually know who I am. It’s weird.”
She knocked back one flute, handed me the other then fluffed out her perfectly-styled bed-head hair in the reflection of her phone.
“Trust me,” I said. “No need to be scared. He’s just a boy.”
I replaced my champagne back onto a tray.
“What if he doesn’t like me sober?”
“You got along the other day, didn’t you—Wait, sober?”
“Lad reeked of booze when him and his assistant showed up at my door. He did bring fancy champagne, though. I forgave him pretty quick.”
I knew it. Drinking the day he knew he had an important meeting. I rested on my hip and shook my head.
“He’ll be sober tonight.”
Phoebe’s hands held my shoulders. “Whoa, no. Without that champagne the other day, there’s no way we could’ve faked that balcony photo.”
“Why?”
“We’re…strangers. He wanted to do something special for you to apologize.”
I rubbed at my collarbone.
“Without it tonight, no way I can fake to the public I’ve been in a two month relationship with the dude.”
“Your job is to fake things.”
“In front of a camera. Not in front of, y’know, Mr. Bloom in the corner or Catherine Zeta by the tree. I’ll wig out, make a fool of myself.”
“It’s performance art.”
“Right.”
“Tyler’s not a terrible co-star.”
“We have nothing in common. Sporty, tattooed beefcake isn’t exactly my type.”
“Oh? Who is?”
She laughed at me. “Um. Females…actually.”
I heeled my palm to my head. “Phoebe, you didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s hush-hush as fuck, don’t feel bad.”
“Phoebe.”
“Don’t worry, Ari. I know this is how this works. I can pretend to like boys a few months.”
I was a sick puppeteer. PR stunt relationships were no new thing—Common, in fact—but my fellow people made it seem easy.
Why was I having a hard time with this one?
“Got any conversation starters? I know nil about sports, less about football and can’t remember the last time I stepped in a gym.”
I slipped an index card from my clutch that listed things I knew Tyler liked so far.
“You lifesaver,” she said. “Though it is…”
“…Yeah, short.”
She flipped to the blank side of the card and back again.
“Yep,” I said. “He doesn’t say much in interviews.”
“They should get him drunk before them then. Did he tell you he fancied you yet?”
I snorted on my a sip of Phoebe’s champagne. “Phoebe. He’s your boyfriend.”
“Sorry.”
I wiped a napkin under my nose, careful not to smudge my lipstick. “What is it with you two and staying professional? I’m not his type. He’s not mine. He’s a client. Also, keep your voice down.”
“Nobody can hear,” she said picking lint off her shoulder.
“You don’t know that.”
My eyes scanned everywhere for a very late Tyler.
“You seen my Instagram feed lately?” Phoebe slid along the wall towards me to show me her screen. “Twenty thousand new followers in two weeks. Crazy right? And people are so nice in the comments too for the most part. Compared to the creeps I’m used to anyway. Look, ‘Mom and Dad!’…That’s cute… ‘You’re perfect together’… ‘Best of luck for his recovery’.”
She scrolled down further to the few images we’d snuck of Tyler in hospital.
“Click that one,” I said.
Phoebe in a nurse outfit kissing the cheek of poor Tyler—eyelids half closed and slack-jawed. I snickered. Phoebe let out a snort.
Beneath it, a flood of comments of positivity, support and honest guidance.
“Can I show this to Tyler later? I think it might make up for you stealing that kiss from him.”
“Share away.”
I clicked my fingernail on my own screen again:
0 Notifications
A hearty, faraway laugh forced me to glance over my shoulder to the lounge.
I blew a long breath, from relief and how achingly sexy Tyler looked when he pretended to give a damn—New tailored suit, navy blue, freshly shaven; He’d even gelled his usually unkempt hair out his eyes for once.
His arm hung around Leo DiCaprio, both men busy in a private laugh. I somehow mustered the courage to interrupt and tapped Tyler on the shoulder.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello, hello,” Tyler said, pulling me into their manly hug. “You look too good to be true.”
I escaped his arm and used my own to show him the direction of his actual date.
“You must be this Ariana Tyler’s been telling me about,” Leo said.
He opened a palm for a handshake. My head flopped back to Tyler disappearing through the sea of heads.
Leo’s hand was too far for me to reach.
“Sorry, Mr. DiCaprio.”
My screaming inner thirteen-year-old would have to wait.
I bent my elbows and sidled through well-dressed bodies until hand rested on my lower back. “Damn, you scrub up good,” Tyler said.
My pace picked up toward Phoebe, elbowed back on the edge, her face lit up in her phone.
“How many drinks have you had?” I said, stopping him by the arm.
He threw me me puppy dogs eyes.
“How many?”
“Three. Sorry.”
“Three?”
“Been here a while. You said get here early.”
“You were here this whole time? You could’ve messaged me.”
“Forgot my phone. It’s a bad habit, I apologize.”
I fanned my skin with the festival program.
“Getting you hot and bothered, Maldova?”
Tyler threw me a wink.
“Shut it.”
I dragged him over toward Phoebe where they gave each other a straight handshake.
“Dating,” I reminded through a half-closed mouth.
Tyler pulled her in for a hug as I spun to peer over the edge to the tiny cars parked below.
“Can you both quit being wall flowers,” I said. “Start mingling before people start to leave. I’ll meet you guys afterwards.”
Tyler’s muscles threatened to burst his jacket sleeves when he reached for me.
“Careful hanging over that far,” he said.
A waft of his cologne blew my way.